Nicole looked over her shoulder, worried. Librarians could be sneaky when they wanted. One would appear and ask her to take her call outside while also volunteering to watch her stuff. Good wholesome eggs, all of them.

“What do you want?”

Jewel laughed. “I’d like to think I’m being quite obvious here—I don’t just want you at X. I need you. Opportunity is knocking: What will it take to make you say yes? I hope it’s not something as trivial as money.”

“Trivial?” Nicole scoffed. “Only someone with enough money to buy a country would say something like that.”

“Not true. I’m in the camp that believes money can and will absolutely buy happiness. But I also have a knack for people. Sure, I could give you a million dollars, but then what? The thing about money is that once you have it, your ambitions will either become front and center or die of neglect until you go broke and get desperate again. When I watch your videos, I can see how hungry you are. Every inch of you is starving under those characters you insist on playing.”

Nicole’s hand began to tighten around her phone.

Jewel had struck a very frayed and fragile nerve. She continued, “Tell me, whose app do you think you’re using? Golden Rule made you because of how I designed it. It’s successful because it forces people into accountability. I ripped anonymity away and made them wear their true faces. If I delete your account, do you honestly believe you’ll be as successful starting over on another platform? That you’ll be able to cope with the literal thousands of anonymous hate comments, insults, and death threats that I can guarantee you’ll get?”

Being Black on the internet could be a dangerous game. Black and female and fat and outspoken—the odds had never been in Nicole’s favor. Not until she’d found Golden Rule, where the users had to show their faces, and hate speech and bullying were banned. Finally, there’d been a way for her to safely grow her platform, to let her talent speak.

The plastic phone case dug into Nicole’s palm, her fingers bending against the hard screen. What would it take to crack it? She could not afford another one. Breathing in and out with deep inhales and long exhales, she forced herself to relax.

Every day her life felt like it was controlled by someone, something else. If her jobs cut her hours, she couldn’t pay her rent, and she’d get evicted. If she didn’t get financial aid, she wouldn’t be able to go to school, and she’d never be able to get a degree to get a better job. Growing up had been coated in an illusion of autonomy and sold to the highest bidder.

Nothing belonged to her.

Nothing.